Through the Vent to Silence

The alarm screamed, then stopped. That silence was worse. I was in history

class when the screaming started—real screaming, the kind that doesn’t sound human. Our teacher locked

the door, but the hallway filled with running feet and crashing lockers.

Someone cried into their hands. I couldn’t stop shaking. A loud bang echoed

nearby. I looked up and saw the ceiling vent hanging loose above the cabinet.

“I can fit,” I whispered. No one stopped me. I climbed, scraping my palms on metal,

pulling myself into darkness. The vent smelled like dust and rust. Every sound traveled—voices,

footsteps, chaos below me. I crawled, heart pounding so hard I thought it